The Hartman Files
by Sarcastic Bob
Summary: Armed with alien technology, a group of Torchwood workers launch a coup d'état against their employers - with horrifying results.


_The following is a series of miscellaneous files related to the Torchwood Institute which were leaked to the public in 2014. Dubbed the Hartman files, after the late manager Yvonne Hartman, they have become an indispensable tool for anyone wishing to learn the inner workings of the organisation._

_[Extract from the diary of Stephen Smith, a physicist employed at Torchwood Four]_

So the bosses have tightened their employment requirements. Again. Honestly, under these guidelines I'd be surprised if Queen Victoria herself could nab a spot. As of today they're only taking Oxbridge and Ewen graduates, _and_ you have to have a family member in active military service. It's times like this when I thank my lucky stars I got here before the Tower fell (and yes, I know it's bad form to talk about what happened to torchwood one, but my sympathies are reserved for when they stop clamming up about the whole thing. They even had a memorial service last week, which is a bit bloody rich when half the staff don't even know what the hell went on back there. But I digress).

If you're wondering why I've started the journal now, it's that bugger else has been going on lately. I'm not one to badmouth my own profession, but everyone else has just been so_ boring_ over the past few days. We don't see the bigwigs very often now, and the only one who was even mildly entertaining was Mrs. Hartman jabbering on about all her "modern workplace" crap. We don't see much of her nowadays. Think she's been relocated someplace or other, but idiot Johnson swears she got disappeared. While she was manager here I heard that a couple of gay lads down in Engineering were having an affair, and she was basically just letting it happen. Almost makes me wish I'd slacked off a bit more, but on the bright side she did ruin the whole secret service vibe a little, which can only be a good thing.

Adrian's gone political again. Everything he says is just Mr. Saxon this, Mr. Saxon that. He's gone mad over that bloke because he keeps making these speeches about the Christmas star, the spaceship crash landing and all that other stuff that the government like to pretend doesn't exist. He's pointing to the elephant in the room, and I'd be betraying my job title if I didn't thank him for that, but I bet if you asked the guy about his immigration policies or whatever then he'd just give you a blank stare. In fact it's pretty telling that he's been getting defectors from all parties, who probably saw the opinion polls and thought they'd side with the winning team. I hope he isn't the winning team though, because underneath all the talk of alien cover ups that would've been laughed out of the room ten years ago, he really doesn't seem to have a damn clue what he's doing. On the other hand, most of the other party leaders are so idiotic that Mr. Saxon may well turn out to be the lesser evil.

There isn't much else to write here, really. You know how I said earlier that the reason I'm typing up this journal is that nothing's going on? Well, that's sort of the point. When I first started out here I could probably fill reams of paper with the stuff I was working on (not that I'd legally be allowed to of course, but that's beside the point). I'd talk conspiracy theories, I'd talk regular theories, I'd spend days staring at piles of salvaged alien tech in a state of perpetual amazement. But sometimes it seems like the greatest achievements of the lab team over the past couple of decades can be reduced to a handful of glorified toys and some scientific theories so heavily classified that nobody on Earth can find a use for them. One of Mrs. Hartley's favourite sayings is that if it's alien, it's ours. But I disagree. The more I've been thinking about it, the more I've become convinced that this isn't a study place for extraterrestrial machinery at all, but a kind of alien scrapyard. It's like that saying that if you leave a digital watch behind in the middle ages, it won't be long until they start a religion based on it. Maybe that's all that Torchwood is; just a multi billion pound digital watch study group, or something. And good God, I really hope nobody ever reads that sentence and takes it out of context, because I suck arse at analogies.

The point is, life as it stands is a lot duller than I'd anticipated. And I don't want to tempt fate, but if something were to happen - anything at all - you better believe that I'd be the first one in line to see it.


End file.
